


Synonyms of heartbreak

by A_Nobelmonster



Series: Distill the spirit [2]
Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Attempted Murder, Drugs, F/M, M/M, no one actually dies, this is in my seth actually survives au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-11
Updated: 2016-12-11
Packaged: 2018-09-07 19:24:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8813188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Nobelmonster/pseuds/A_Nobelmonster
Summary: Drabble with the prompt: “Oh my God. Can you hear me?”





	

No, he can’t . He can barely feel the soft sway of blond hair against his face.

It’s not like being in a tunnel. It’s not like being anything and Seth should be familiar with that but a single driving notion confesses his brain.

He wishes he could see the panicked Hazel eyes above him. If he could he would soothe them then.

“Seth what did you do?” perhaps that’s not for him. The bile in his throat stoppers his words, the bathroom floor beneath him seals them in.

Why is this all so familiar?

Why is Seth’s life an album of wet eye’s?

His mother, Allison, Wymack. He has always been so to learn a painful lesson.

Seth should not have come to the club, not when Riko is searching high and low for his pound of flesh. The shivers that reverberate the lines of his heart say he may be out of lessons to learn. Stupid soft boy with his head full of fluff.

But he did learn one thing, a note his heart engraved when he was old enough to know when to go past his limits.

“Not ….me-” his cheek is cool but from water or tears or saliva -

It doesn’t matter. Focus Seth.

“ Prom’ise “

“You already left me once, don’t do this to me Seth.” lungs hitch, diaphragms turning to stone. And fragile boys shatter.

The clubs bathroom is silent . the world slows to a bang. 

Slick palms compress his sternum as if they can carve life into his rotting bones. One two one two one two and his breath is not his own.

The lips that he calls home, that he has grown to know, they call to him and his poor soul.

This is already more than he thought he was allowed to have.

It has always been enough so he repeats himself on the weakening tide in his veins.

I didn’t try to overdose. I didn’t try to leave. I swear .

I swear.


End file.
